


My Love is Like A Red, Red... Gladiolus

by ComeHitherAshes



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Confused Porthos, Customer!Porthos, Flirtatious Aramis, Florist AU, Florist!Athos, Knowledgeable Athos, M for naughty thoughts, M/M, Meet-Cute, birthday fic, it's the usual bag of tricks, sickeningly cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4297374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeHitherAshes/pseuds/ComeHitherAshes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos needs flowers, and the only way he's going to be able to crest this confusing sea of bright petals and sweet scents is with the help of the attractive accountant scowling quite menacingly at him over the desk. <i>A rose with many thorns would smell as sweet.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	My Love is Like A Red, Red... Gladiolus

**Author's Note:**

> In celebration of my birthday today, I give you all fic! Of the three up for the vote, this one won by a mile - and it's my favourite, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Suffice to say that I have a thing for flowers and I've always likened gladioli to this lot - for reasons which will become obvious.

> 'Til all the seas go dry, my dear,  
>  And the rocks melt with the sun;  
>  And I will love thee still, my dear,  
>  While the sand of life shall run.
> 
>  - Robert Burns, _'A Red, Red Rose'_

Porthos shuffled out of the light rain with a harrumph, escaping the panicking shoppers on the high street by ducking into the little shop he had spent the better part of an hour looking for.

Scrubbing his damp head with his palm, he looked about with an affectionate sort of grimace. On every stand, on every table, on every inch of wall space, there were flowers. Bundles of them, bright splashes of colour that managed to entice as well as intoxicate.

Immediately, he sneezed, the scents barraging his nose into numbness, and from somewhere in the store he heard a very bored, "Bless you."

"Er, thanks?" Self-consciously, he moved along the aisles, wary of knocking over the delicate bunches of flowers that seemed to lean out to touch him, their petals like soft fingers against his skin.

Bursting out of a section, he finally came to the front desk, behind which stood a guy only a few years older than himself. He wasn't in a uniform, tailored dark shirt falling neatly across his shoulders, silver pen brandished over a notebook.

Taped to the front of the desk was a sign with a smiley face on it that read:  _Hi, my name's Athos, please talk to me!_

One of Athos' eyebrows rose as Porthos looked him over, and rose higher when Porthos coughed to busy himself.

Right, he had come here for a reason, and it wasn't to stare at the attractive florist.

Not that Aramis would blame him, and not that the guy even looked like a florist. Well, the hands suited, deft and nimble, but the eyes, way too calculating, even if they were the interesting colour of the angry clouds overhead.

Aramis always loved a gorgeous challenge.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah," Porthos blurted, trying to clear his head of Athos between them, those pale fingers on Aramis' tan skin – would he burn in the sunshine, or would he get freckles that they could trace with their tongues? "Uh, wanted to get some flowers for my boyfriend."

Athos blinked, taking him in in one glance and then returning to his writing, as if Porthos wasn't worth his time. He probably shouldn't have been offended, but he was, he hadn't been blanked in ages, especially not by someone so coldly captivating. "Done something wrong, have we?"

Porthos bristled, wanting those dichotomous eyes of calm and storm on him again, wanting to see if he could warm them. "No." He was given a brief, dubious look. "I haven't! I'm just bein' nice."

There was a hum of acknowledgement, but it was the book that received all of that focused attention, the pen moving in smooth, swirling motions, wrists delicate but strong. Porthos waited for a few seconds but nothing changed, and he started to hate the book.

"Are you gonna help me or not?"

Athos finally looked up, an amused scoff dropping from his haughty mouth. "I don't work here."

Porthos vainly tried not to take a step back, embarrassment a flush on his cheeks. "Why're you behind the desk then?!"

"I'm doing the accounts." Athos gestured to the painfully neat inscriptions, somehow also managing to make Porthos feel like an idiot.

That could have been his own foot-in-mouth tendencies, though, and he  _had_ been more interested in checking Athos out than what exactly he was doing.

Shifting his weight did nothing to help the heat prickling his skin and he suddenly longed for the rain outside, to feel it cool and comforting on his arms, like deft, pale fingers...

 _Fuckin' 'ell, Porthos, shut up,_ flashed through his head and he cleared his throat again. "Is there someone that  _can_ 'elp me?"

"No," was the uninterested reply. "Constance has gone out for lunch."

Porthos made a noise somewhere between aggravated and helpless, surveying the millions of flowers as if he had never seen them before. He had wanted to get something special, with meaning, like that scene in ' _Kate and Leopold_ ' that Aramis had made him watch.

Orange either meant passion or hatred, and it was pretty important that he remember which.

Whatever, he didn't have time to wait for the shop owner to get back, he'd have to settle.

He grabbed for the nearest bunch of roses and thrust them under Athos' nose, deliberately resting them on the book that kept Athos' attention away from him. "I'll take these."

Bestowed with the iciest glare imaginable, Porthos thought he was going to be ignored again, but to his surprise, Athos actually flipped open a book of prices and asked idly, "I thought you weren't in trouble?"

"I'm not, I wanna do somethin' sweet," Porthos growled irritably, "but you ain't gonna help me, are you?"

Athos paused, bemused gaze flicking back to him momentarily. "You're honestly just trying to do something nice, and you picked  _roses_?"

Confusion rang in Porthos' voice. "What's wrong with roses?!"

Athos snorted as if he wasn't sure whether Porthos was joking or not, but when he saw his lost expression, he sighed and pushed everything on the desk to one side. "Fine, tell me a bit about him."

Porthos watched him, wary now that the magnifying glass of focus was upon him, but pleased he had taken precedent over the book. "I thought you didn't work 'ere?"

"I don't," Athos shrugged, "but I know a little about a lot, and my Latin isn't that rusty. I certainly know enough to know that when you're trying to do something meaningful, you do  _not_  just settle for roses."

"'Scuse me," Porthos muttered sarcastically, and thought he saw something like a smile twitch at Athos' cheeks. "Okay, where do I start?"

Athos flared his clever hands. "What's his name?"

"Aramis," Porthos said, and he involuntarily smiled when the name left his lips. "We've been datin' for a few years now – he could give you the exact number of days, he remembers shit like that. We met at college, he was studyin' Drama, and I was doin' anythin'  _but_ study."

There was definitely a twitch this time. "Aramis is an actor?"

Porthos' smile grew wider and infinitely fonder. "It's his dream; stage, film, telly, anythin', he just wants to act." After his third word, Athos suddenly came out from behind the desk, stalking past him to prowl the aisles.

"Keep talking," Athos called distractedly.

"Um, okay?" Porthos felt stupid talking to the flowers, but he did as he was told, Athos didn't look like a fellow who would accept any disobedience – Aramis would seriously love him. "His first big show was when he was a kid, he was the Artful Dodger in 'is school's play. Got it on camera an' everythin', he was only 12."

"Can he sing?" Athos' voice rang out from somewhere within the flowers.

Porthos laughed ruefully, "Yeah, he can sing, as often as 'e can, too. Was in 'is church choir, but after 'is voice broke he jus' wanted to act."

Athos reappeared with what was almost a surprised expression on his face, looking strangely out of place amidst all those colour petals. "Why did he stop singing?"

Porthos gave a little sigh. "Honestly? He thinks 'e's no good. It's bollocks, 'is voice is amazin', but if I tell 'im that he thinks I'm just flatterin' him."

Athos nodded slowly and then stalked off again to be eaten up by the flowers, his questions turning thoughtful. "Has he ever been rejected for a part?"

Porthos' heart stumbled, painful memories of Aramis curled up in his arms with a letter scrunched in one hand. "Yeah," he replied quietly, "each one hits 'im hard, but 'e picks himself up again."

"With your help," Athos added, just as quietly, and this time he appeared with bunches of red and white flowers clasped between his hands.

"I guess, yeah," Porthos mumbled, a bit embarrassed and not knowing what to say under Athos' knowing expression. Instead, he stared pitifully at the spray of petals. "Look, I don't know what any of those even are."

Athos' cheeks twitched again, this time a little higher, until it was very nearly an actual smile, and Porthos felt quite pleased with himself despite everything else.

Athos laid his collection carefully onto the desk, pulling out a few vases before he was happy. In the end, he chose a simple one, long-necked and clear, and placed it beside the flowers.

"We start with the foliage," Athos said as if he was quoting someone, fingers quick as he separated the stalks, holding each of them up briefly for Porthos to see. "Most I'll hide underneath, but if Aramis is into symbolism," Athos' eyes glittered in a withheld laugh when Porthos nodded adamantly, "then you can tell him about them."

"I'll try," Porthos replied dubiously.

Athos waved a hand. "I'll write it down. Now, ivy, in its non-flowering form, represents dependence, endurance – good for withstanding rejection." As Porthos stared at the clever representation, Athos made a collar of ivy leaves, making them into a backdrop for the more colourful flowers.

Next was a long green stem covered in leaves with only one or two small, fluffy-petalled flowers on it. "Alcea – you might have heard of it as hollyhock – is for ambition, technically it should be in pink rather than white but it will clash with my colour scheme—" Athos halted suddenly as if he couldn't believe what he had just said.

When Porthos snickered, Athos gave him a warning look coupled with a faint smile.

It was completely arresting, and Porthos vaguely considered ruining his surprise just so he could text Aramis and demand he come down here, see if they could tempt him, together, into coming out with them.

What would Athos drink? Beers, like Porthos? Cocktails, like Aramis? Or wine, full and heavy and red, dark against his skin and rich like the complex emotion in his eyes.

Too complex, Porthos noted, he had to play this carefully if he wanted to taste the curve of Athos' lip.

"Scarlet lilies for high-souled aspirations," Athos murmured, completely oblivious to Porthos' heated thoughts, and continued to pick out some deep red star-shaped flowers, arranging them to pop around the edges of the vase. Porthos grinned at the appropriate meanings, all of them chosen just from his talking about Aramis.

"Where'd you learn all this?"

Athos glanced up from his arranging with a wry smirk, one that brought a startling amount of light to his closed face. "This place is Constance's dream, I do my best to keep it a reality."

Porthos heard his jaw click down, heard the same words that Porthos said to himself whenever Aramis spoke about acting, whenever he was knackered from a long day at work but Aramis needed to go over his script.

Athos returned his tired smile. "I've read Hamlet so many times I think I've started sleep-talkin' it."

Athos laughed, but before Porthos could be mesmerised by the sound of it, it broke off, and Athos turned to survey the wall. Deft fingers brushed delicately over the white petals and he picked one that Porthos finally knew. "Daisies?"

Athos' smile was almost sly as he artfully inserted the flowers into the bunch. "As Ophelia implied, daisies for innocence."

Porthos chuckled lowly, "Not sure innocent is quite the look I was goin' for." Athos definitely clenched his jaw together to keep from laughing that time, and Porthos grinned at the sight. "Besides, Shakespeare?"

Athos snorted in surprise. "I have brought you a bouquet of meaning, and yet it's my knowledge of Hamlet that confuses you?"

Porthos conceded with a duck of his head, fascinated by the encyclopaedic knowledge held behind that cool façade. "Good point, okay then." Porthos nibbled a lip and offered a cheeky grin. "Different question, you used this flower symbolism stuff on anyone else?"

He had meant it as simply flirtatious, but a flicker of a frown crossed Athos' brow, and Porthos immediately called himself an idiot. "Once, a long time ago, but then meanings can be very subjective."

"Like roses meanin' love?" Porthos asked, wishing he hadn't said anything.

Athos gave him a tight smile, his gaze darting to some tiny blue flowers across the room. "Indeed, and there are far more complex layers to other red flowers."

Porthos inclined his head at the last flower on the desk, desperate to move Athos' attention onto something else, wanting to see that faint smile again. "What's that one?"

"It's the in the same family as these," Athos murmured, pointing at the scarlet lilies already in the vase, "but this one, if you must know, is my favourite."

"You have a favourite flower?" Porthos asked of the man he would have called  _cold_ before all of this.

Athos shrugged as if it were nothing, as if Porthos wasn't slowly falling in love with him, and picked up the stem that cascaded in tiny flowers, all a deep, glorious red. "It's a gladiolus, this one's a hybrid – they're normally pink or orange."

"Isn't that a sword?"

Athos finally met his gaze again, and a spark of amusement had returned, his lip lifting into a smile. "It's a diminutive of gladius, yes, that's why it's sometimes called a 'sword lily'."

"Huh." Porthos leaned on his elbows to look more closely at it, his attention drifting from the petals when he realised Athos had gone very still. His breath ghosted over Athos' knuckles and he just barely saw the faint tremor of Athos' arm. "What's it mean?"

Athos cleared his throat, looking away when Porthos looked up at him. It was the second time Porthos had seen him uncertain, but this one felt different, it wasn't a cold wound of memory, but something… hotter. "Amongst other things, conviction, honour," Athos finally looked back, "strength of character."

"Suits you," Porthos said honestly, and when Athos' grip tightened on the fragile stem, he reached out himself. "Careful."

Athos blinked rapidly when their fingers touched, but Athos moved first by releasing the flower into the vase, nudging it slightly until it sat right and popping in another once Porthos rested his hands on the counter again.

"You're done," Athos remarked tonelessly, and Porthos bit the inside of his cheek, wondering if he had gotten this all wrong.

The bouquet was beautiful, and honestly? So was Athos. Ten minutes ago, Porthos would have written him off as gorgeous but gloomy, but, perhaps like a flower that only bloomed at night, Athos simply needed different circumstances to flourish.

The transaction passed in short, formal sentences, Porthos handing his cash over with something like regret in his chest – there was probably a flower for this feeling, somewhere.

Regret, disappointment, grief. Unrequited love wasn't a step too far, either.

"Thanks for all your help, you've been amazin'," Porthos said, breaking the silence, but Athos still didn't meet his eye. Sighing, Porthos turned to leave, his precious bouquet clutched to his chest.

"Wait," Athos called before Porthos got lost in the flowers, coming out from the desk holding a sprig of something. "It's not a flower, so just put it under the others." Porthos fidgeted to get his wallet out again and Athos shook his head. "It's fine, it's on me."

Porthos frowned, but turned back for the bundle of yellowish stems in hopeful curiosity. "Are these… oats?"

"Music," Athos supplied, the faintest tinge of pink on his cheeks. "Oats are for music. Aramis can sing and perhaps it will put him on track for a new dream."

Porthos felt his smile split his face. "Thanks, seriously, this means a lot, Athos."

Athos choked on his noise of denial. "How do you know my name?"

Porthos reached past him to pull the paper sign from the front of the desk. "This."

Athos looked at it with complete neutrality, and then said just as dispassionately, "I'm going to kill her. I wondered why people kept coming up to me."

Porthos chuckled, wondering what sort of person had managed to befriend Athos. "Yeah, if it wasn't for the sign, I wouldn't 'ave."

Athos hummed in annoyance. "I work very hard to maintain this air of hostility."

"It shows."

Porthos received an amused look for that, but before he could delight in it, Athos tilted his head to the side. "Aramis will be waiting."

Porthos glanced outside, the rain had stopped, the sun was shining, Aramis was waiting – but Aramis would be more pissed at him if he let Athos go without saying something. "Yeah, listen, Athos—"

The door tinkled, and Athos' aggrieved mutter about customers made Porthos snort. A woman with auburn hair slipped through the flowers and stopped comically still when she saw them. "Do... you need a hand?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks, Athos 'elped me." Porthos lifted his bouquet with a happy smile.

The woman, who he supposed was Constance, stared in awestruck horror at Athos. "You did that?"

"No," Athos replied immediately, grumpy mask falling back into place.

Constance looked at Porthos again. "Did he do that?"

Porthos opened his mouth but had no idea what to say, whether to side with Athos or make him look good, he was at a loss. Constance gave a bark of gobsmacked laughter and simply walked past them, looking as if she didn't know how to deal with the situation, and saying quietly, "Adorable."

Athos gave him an impatient look, so Porthos grinned, pulled out one of his gladioli, and held it out. Confusion chased surprise across Athos' face, so Porthos pushed it into Athos' hand, ensuring their fingers brushed, and said, "Strength of character, Athos."

And then he left, grinning when he saw Athos' soft, stunned smile in the shop window's reflection.

Time would tell if it was true.

 

* * *

 

A week later, Athos looked up from the accounts book when the door tinkled, and couldn't help himself from checking out the figure that sauntered up to the desk and smiled as if he knew him, intimately.

It wasn't in him to speak first, but when confronted with that disarming smile, speak first he did. "Yes?"

The gorgeous stranger rested a confident hip against Athos' desk, eyes lidded as he purred, "Athos?"

Athos would have jerked in surprise, but then he remembered that damn sign. "I don't know how Constance keeps sneaking those up."

Sparkling white teeth flashed at him in a sly smile, one that threatened to dangerously derail Athos' normally steady thoughts. "I'm looking for some flowers for my boyfriend."

Athos sighed, wondering when he had become such a sucker for an attractive smile, and knowing full well that it had only started a week ago. "What's he like?"

"Dependable, enduring, a distinct strength of character," the man looked down and up again, looking at Athos under his lashes as his voice lowered, "definitely not innocent."

Athos sucked in a breath, realisation settling like some sort of heat on his skin, but he managed to say evenly, "Did you land the part in Hamlet?"

Aramis laughed softly, as if he had a secret that Athos desperately wanted to know. "Yes, thank you. I – or, more accurately,  _we_ – thought about asking you out for a drink."

Athos blinked in shock, caught entirely off-guard. "Why?"

"To thank you for helping Porthos, for the luck," Aramis gave him another disarming smile, "because you're cute."

Athos almost reeled, but somehow, he found his tongue – possibly because Aramis' peeked out to swipe over his lip and send every one of Athos' thoughts into disarray.

"When?"

"Aqua Spirit, Regent Street, 7pm, and… I'll take a gladiolus."

Athos stared blankly at the cash in Aramis' hand, only coming back to himself when their fingers touched – Aramis' lingering overlong, Athos' burning delightfully. Aramis brought the flower up to his nose, his sigh so utterly relaxed and  _private_ that Athos felt as if he were intruding.

There was sex in Aramis' darkening brown eyes when he opened them again. "For you," he murmured, slipping the stem into Athos' hand, and then he was gone.

Athos had spent far too often this past week wondering what Aramis looked like, what physicalities went with that glowing description. Now, confronted with the reality, and the thought of the two of them, Athos might have trembled.

It was almost too good to be true, and if he hadn't felt Aramis' sticky gaze trailing over his body as if he were already naked and willing, he might have started to doubt himself, talked himself out of going.

The memory of two different sets of fingers against his own had him closing the accounts book.

He scribbled a note for Constance and scrambled for his things, mentally calculating how much time he would need to get ready, to call a cab, to  _meet them, together._

He was halfway down the street before he came racing back, hand tentative over the gorgeous gladiolus still on the counter. Athos picked it up, his smile surprised, and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

Meanings were subjective, but Athos rather liked this one.

**Author's Note:**

> I get such a kick out of these fluffy modern AUs, and I love putting Athos in the most unexpected places - but fully within his character, of course. You can throw Porthos at a bakery and he'll attack the dough with happy furore, throw Athos at it and he'll glare the customers away and complain about the floury hand-prints on his backside...
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful day, come see me on my [Tumblr](http://comehitherashes.tumblr.com/) and scream about sword-lilies and the boys with me!


End file.
